


The Case of the Beloved Inspector

by Small_Hobbit



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Gen, Mouselet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 06:55:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/pseuds/Small_Hobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr Watson did not record all the cases where Inspector Hopkins requested help from Mr Holmes.  Mouselet decides to rectify this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Case of the Beloved Inspector

**Author's Note:**

> I created Mouselet for the Sherlock Holmes: 60 for 60 comm; in which every week the challenge is to write a 60 word ficlet for one of the ACD stories. Mine are all related by various animals under the collective name of The Ocelot Tales. Mouselet has a crush on Inspector Hopkins, who bears a strong resemblance to Richard Armitage.
> 
> If you think Watson is an unreliable narrator, Mouselet is far worse. The stories are "10 pages describing Hopkins and half a page on the actual crime".

It has been noted that Dr Watson did not record all the cases that Inspector Hopkins was involved with.  Or, if I am exact, all the cases where both Mr Sherlock Holmes and Inspector Hopkins were involved, for there were, of course, many cases that the good inspector was able to solve without Mr Holmes’ assistance.  It therefore falls to me to relate some of those cases.

I have written about my dear Inspector before, but I feel, for the benefit of any new readers that may have found this tale, that I should describe him once again.  Inspector Hopkins is tall, maybe even slightly taller that Mr Holmes, although I find it difficult to judge.  He has dark hair, with a slight wave to it, and when he is asleep, it falls softly across his brow.  His eyes are grey and kindly, although were I a miscreant, I would fear the anger that can spark in them.  His skin is clear, for he has avoided all pockmarks.  He has the most delicious sideburns and his smile, although rarely seen, is perfect.

I could continue, but I fear that such a description will cause too many of my readers to fall for him, and I should not wish to be envious of them, for I have already laid claim to him.

It was another rainy day when my inspector called on Mr Holmes and the doctor.  He had left his umbrella and overcoat in the hallway when Mrs Hudson showed him up.  She departed to make some tea, tutting slightly over the dampness.  I agreed with her, although my concern was for the inspector’s hair; hers, I believe, was for the carpet.  Dr Watson encouraged him to stand before the fire and found him a towel to dry himself as best he could.  I found myself hoping he would buy a new umbrella, because his current one was clearly not very efficient.

Mr Holmes joined them and starting asking something about the case that had brought the inspector to Baker Street.  I confess that I did not listen too carefully -- being more interested in watching the occasional raindrop roll down the side of his face and nestle in his sideburns -- but apparently someone had been murdered in a flat above a pawn shop.  Mr Holmes provided some suggestions as to who could have been responsible and how they could have entered the flat without being seen by anyone in the shop below.  Mr Holmes seemed to think that one of the assistants had been involved in the crime, whilst the other, who seemed to be quite a gullible sort of fellow, had been distracted by a fake customer.  If they had asked me, I would have said that appearing gullible and distracted would have been the perfect disguise, but I doubt they were aware of my presence.

So, once my inspector had drunk his tea, which Mrs Hudson had brought up, he left, saying that he would be back later to let Mr Holmes know how he had got on.  With the prospect of more excitement later, I decided it would be good to take a nap.  No doubt Mr Holmes would be expounding his theories to Dr Watson, but they were of little interest to me now that my dear man had left.

It was some hours later that he returned.  I was horrified when I saw him.  His shirt gave evidence of an injury to his chest, he had a black eye and there was a nasty gash on the side of his head.  I barely managed to stifle the squeak I made.  Dr Watson ordered him to sit down, but he refused, apologising to Mr Holmes and saying that he had failed him.  In the end, Dr Watson got quite cross with him and forced him into a chair, so that he could tend to his wounds.  I was very glad that the doctor took charge because at one point it appeared that the inspector and Mr Holmes were intending to go out again.  However, the doctor said that nothing would be gained by such a ridiculous idea and insisted that the inspector spend the night on the couch, where it would be easy to keep an eye on him. 

The inspector reluctantly agreed and, whilst Mr Holmes went to his room to think about the problem and no doubt create so much smoke that no other creature would wish to be in his room, Dr Watson went to find some spare blankets and made up a temporary bed.  He then took himself upstairs, instructing the inspector to be sure to call if he needed anything.

Once my inspector had fallen asleep, I crept over to sit on the arm of the settee to watch over him.  His lovely face was creased and pale and he was clearly in pain.  There was nothing I could do for him, but at least while he slept, his body could start to heal.  I settled into my vigil.

After a while my poor inspector grew restless and started to toss and groan, but not so loudly that the doctor could hear.  I was sure that if he knew his patient was distressed he would return at once, but the moans, although heartbreaking, were too quiet.

I therefore resolved to do something.  There was a heavy candlestick on the sideboard and I felt sure that if it were to fall, the noise would waken the doctor.  Whilst he was quite capable of sleeping through the horrendous noises Mr Holmes made some nights (and which Mrs Hudson complained about – with no little justification), it would be quite different when he was caring for a patient.

The candlestick was too heavy for me to push, but I discovered that I could pull the mat it was resting on; so with a little manoeuvring, the candlestick fell with a satisfying crash.  I was afraid that the noise would wake my sweet inspector but that was a risk I had to take.  I had no fear that Mr Holmes would notice; once engrossed in a case, an elephant could have moved in and he would be unaware of it until it was blocking the doorway he wished to pass through.

As I had hoped, the doctor ran downstairs and went to check on his patient, who had stirred but not properly woken. 

He felt my inspector’s forehead.  “My dear fellow, it is as I feared might happen.  You have a slight fever.  I’ll give you a potion and cool you with some tepid water, which should help.  Fortunately, something woke me now or you would have been far worse in a few hours time.”

My little heart swelled to think that I had been able to help my beloved.  And if that wasn’t enough, I was forced to stuff my paw in my mouth to prevent myself from squealing in excitement.

The doctor brought his potion and a bowl of water and, having helped his patient to sit up, he began to wash his face.

Then he said, “My dear fellow, your shirt is soaking from sweat.  I will find you a clean one.”

I watched intently, and once the doctor had found a shirt, he helped my wonderful inspector to remove the one he was wearing and then sponged over his chest.

His chest, oh his chest.  Those muscles.  I sat on the sideboard and it was as well that neither looked at me for I was in full view.  His chest is magnificent; my inspector is truly beautiful.  This was a wonderful reward for calling the doctor.

_Here the manuscript is rather speckled.  Mouselet appears to have been drooling._

Sorry, where was I?  Inspector Hopkins’s manly chest.  Hmmmmm.

Far too soon, the doctor helped my exquisite inspector into a clean shirt.  I have to admit to being slightly disappointed, but at the same time I would not have wanted him to catch a chill.

The inspector lay down again and the doctor pottered around until he was sure he was asleep and seemed peaceful.  I hid behind the other candlestick for fear of being seen.

After the doctor had once more retired to bed, I crept back to my vigil point.  The inspector rolled over and in my excitement I slipped off the arm of the settee and found myself just underneath his chin.  I kept very still and he ceased moving, so I resolved to remain where I was, because from there I should quickly notice if his temperature rose again.

I scampered away before he could wake in the morning.  Shortly after that, the doctor descended and smiled at his patient.

“How are you feeling now?  Did you get some more sleep?”

“Much better thank you doctor.  I am sorry to have disturbed you during the night.”

“Think nothing of it.  It is an occupational hazard – one I am sure that you, too, have experienced.”

“True.  It was funny, but after you had so kindly assisted me, I felt that I was being watched over and my dreams were much more pleasant.”

“I am glad to hear it.  And here is Holmes, ready to sally forth into a new day.  We will, however, not be going anywhere before we have had some breakfast.”

After breakfast, they did go out and I did not see them for many hours.  I took the opportunity to not only catch up on sleep, but to make the most of an excellent breakfast of toast crumbs and bacon fat, where Mr Holmes had been outlining his thought processes whilst holding his food. 

I had begun to be concerned, but then heard footsteps on the stairs and cheerful voices.  Much to my relief, they were back and safe. 

“I still don’t understand how you knew who the ringleader was,” the doctor was saying.

“His disguise worked well and I might have been fooled, but then I remembered reading of a similar case in Birmingham three or four years ago.  On that occasion, there were again two assistants and although one had been arrested, the other, who was described as ‘rather simple’, subsequently vanished.  It occurred to me that it was possible that this man had decided to repeat a successful method.”

“We are indeed fortunate that you were with us,” replied my inspector.  “For I do not think anyone else would have suspected him.”

I allowed myself a small smile at this, but since mice are not admitted to the police force, I do not think I would have been able to help.

Too soon, my beloved inspector said his farewells and departed.  I shall now have to wait until another case brings him to Baker Street and meanwhile, will treasure all my new memories.


End file.
